Lacing Shadows

by Tina Smith

  I withered beneath him and opened my eyes as he started to realize something was wrong. He let me go and I fell back into the bridge wall. He stepped back rapidly reaching the other side of the bridge and started spitting. There was a fierce terror in his wide eyes. I wasted no time, gripping the silver cross in my pocket with the pointed end ready. I strode towards him and thrust it into his chest. He began to rattle and I saw into his grey eyes for one terrifying moment as his face sank and turned into sparks, like embers, that transformed to dust, which fell away into fine particles coating the ground beneath me.

  I got up and gave a cautionary glance around in disbelief at what I had just done. I discreetly tucked the warm cross away in my pocket, my heart racing. I stepped back and wiped my mouth, disgusted at the memory of his cold tongue.

  I left the park as fast as I could and when I was inside the dorm I felt a wave of relief. Amity was out. I rinsed the silver foil in my mouth with a bottle of water and spat the little pieces out in a tissue. I stared at the tissue stained with watery blood and tiny bits of silver leaf.

  My bags were packed, I hadn’t thought I would make it back but my plan had worked. I grabbed up the duffle bag and left.

  I disappeared into a train bound for the city. As I sat, the realization of what I had done washed over me. I was determined to find others like Cyrus.

  The End

  Tina Smith is the Author of the Wolf Sirens Series. From her home in Adelaide South Australia Tina inspires, entertains and examines life. Night is the time her creative juices flow. Under the light of the moon she is driven to write and connect with readers through her mad-capped imagination—you could say it's a calling...

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  © Copyright 2014 Tina Smith

  Into the Dark

  Laurie Treacy

  “You can’t stay in your corner of the forest,

  waiting for others to come to you;

  you have to go to them sometimes.”

  —A.A. Milne

  Chapter One

  After four months of longing for a home-cooked meal, all that waited for me when I returned was an empty house and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. I closed the kitchen door, stood my suitcase up, and sniffed. No smells of dinner simmering, no scents of Mom’s perfume.

  I yanked my knitted wool cap off and unzipped my jacket.

  Okay, I don’t mind starting with dessert. Yum.

  I hurried over to the old, oak table, ripped the plastic off the mound of treats, and grabbed a handful. Not caring about my appearance, I shoveled cookies into my mouth.

  “Chocolate bliss.” My moan was scandalous. The gooey confection soothed my frazzled senses. Homemade sure beat the supermarket brand I bought at school.

  Where was Mom? Her car wasn’t in the garage when I parked my Jeep. Maybe she decided to get some Christmas shopping done.

  Chewing, I shook my head. That’s not Mom. Anytime I came home from college, she’d made sure to be there. Yes, I am a proud Momma’s girl. She knew I’d be arriving today. The cookies were proof.

  Maybe she went to visit a friend? Nah, it was almost six o’clock. Too late. Her shift at the hospital ended at three.

  I slipped my cell phone out of my jeans and checked for any new messages. Not a word.

  She didn’t text me or leave any voice mails. Mom knew I was a nervous wreck driving home. Being surrounded by a sea of tractor trailers made my anxiety go into hyperdrive. I had checked my phone every time I pulled into an I-84 rest stop, either for coffee or to hit the restroom throughout my four-hour drive. There’d been nothing—only random stuff from my suitemates. Complaints about grades. Happy holiday wishes. Links to funny videos.

  The something is wrong alarm clanged in my head.

  I checked the large room until I spotted a piece of paper taped to the refrigerator. The stark white stood out against the stainless steel. “Holly” was written in her elegant cursive. I retrieved it and sat down on the farmhouse bench, tossing my jacket and hat beside me, to read her note.

  Mom had taken a plane out of Stewart Airport at dawn. Grandma’d had a stroke.

  No. Not my Nana. Not the strong, never sick in her life, always helping others Nana. I blinked away springing tears. A lump of crushed cookie formed in my throat.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I whispered, saying a prayer for Nana. Her note continued, stating Dad wouldn’t get back from England until a few days before Christmas. His cybersecurity consultation contract had been extended. I did the math. “But that’s not for another two weeks!”

  I was facing the beginning of my winter break without my family. The very people I missed so much wouldn’t be here. Lonely became such a cold, solitary word. At least I had Chewie, our Irish wolfhound. Where was he anyway?

  My older brother, Brad, was also away—finishing up his first semester as a junior abroad, while I’d just completed the first half of freshman year at Hudson University in upstate New York.

  My heart rate returned to normal. One thing I know about Nana, she’s a fighter. She moved to a community resort in Florida after Grandpa passed away five years ago.

  I grabbed one more cookie, re-covered the plate, and munched. It felt good to be home. Dutchess County. On our farm. I would miss my friends at HU, but the quiet was nice.

  And to be honest, I still wondered if I was cut out to go away to school. Could I handle three and half more years? I now had time to think over my options: return to school next month or start the new year by transferring to community college until I figured things out.

  Mom and Dad had always been cool, saying it was my life, my future.

  There was scratching at the door behind me. Rushing over, I yanked it open. “Chewie!” I pushed open the screen door as his huge, furry body slammed into my knees, barreling me down. Laughing, I threw my arms around him. He planted hundreds of kisses all over my face. “I think Mom let you out this morning and forgot all about you. Poor baby.”

  I managed to stand, his tail whipping and hitting everything in its way. “Let’s get some water, boy.”

  Water is a magic word for dogs. Instantly alert, he headed to his bowls. Once I took care of my happy dog, I grabbed my stuff in one hand and with the other wheeled my suitcase behind me out into the hall. It was time to put my things away and think about dinner. A WRRV DJ on my car radio had mentioned snow tonight.

  *

  “Yeah, Mom, everything’s fine,” I said into my cell phone for the fourth time. “Stop worrying. I’ll be fine on my own.”

  I checked the lock on the kitchen door and windows as I made my way across the first floor of our two-story, updated farmhouse. We no longer had farm animals, just a dog and a couple of barn cats. Chewie was fast asleep in his doggie bed by the fireplace inside the family room.

  Security. Locks. She made me nervous. “Yep, everything’s latched.” I stopped, my throat dry. “Did something happen? Any neighborhood break-ins…?” Our small town of Raven Falls was generally crime free. The only exceptions were some local kids that went missing years ago.

  “N-no.” She switched to apologize about the lack of food.

  “I’m a big girl. Besides, I ran out to Patterson’s, picked up some things, and filled the fridge.” I plopped down onto the sofa. Being away had taught me to fend for myself.

  “Yes, Mom, there’s plenty of firewood. The weatherman said a dusting overnight. No ice. I filled my tank and charged my phone.” I kicked my feet up onto the coffee table, careful not to knock over the glass of milk or smush my PB & J sandwich. Our conversation was beginning to weird me out. I didn’t want to worry. I’d done that enough.

  “So, Nana’s stable?” I asked, trying to steer Mom away from her favorite topic—me. “I’m glad.” Relief spread through me. Yeah, Nana. You fight.

  As Mom recounted her day, I noticed that not one holiday item was on displa
y in the house. That’s strange. Mom usually started in right after Thanksgiving, but there wasn’t one snowman or shred of tinsel in sight. “Do you think Nana would want to move back in with us?”

  Mom drew in a breath. I could see her smile. The three of us had always been close. “When she’s healthy enough to travel, I think that’s our only option. We’d have to hire someone to stay with her during the day while I work. With Brad in Australia, your dad traveling, and now you away, I’m the only one—”

  “Okay. I get that. We’ll work it out. Nana needs to be with us.” I settled back, wondering if I could help out. If I lived at home next semester, I could take night classes, but I kept quiet. Mom already had enough to deal with. Money had to be tight with the two of us in college.

  “Do you want me to catch a flight out tomorrow? Keep you company?” The reloadable credit card Dad gave me carried a balance, plus I always had my savings account.

  She sighed. “No, I have things handled. You just got home. Take care of Chewie and the house. Can you put up—”

  “Mom,” I cut in, “I’ll decorate, handle things here. You take care of Nana and yourself. Let me know if anything changes or if you want—”

  “Holly Barclay, relax. Everything’s okay. Love you. Good night, dove.”

  “Hugs and kisses, Mom. Bye.” I tossed my phone onto the cushion. Grabbing the remote, I put the TV on and searched for something to help me unwind. So much still lingered in my mind: the stresses of dorm life, the eighteen-credit workload, new friends, my job at the coffee house off campus, parties, and dating. Pills and monthly meetings with a therapist helped me cope with the anxiety. No matter what I did, I still never felt happy or comfortable. Unfortunately, no matter what I did, the homesickness never improved.

  I tried to shrug it all off and snuggled in for an evening of channel surfing. “It’s me and you, Chewie.” Eyes still closed, his tail wagged. It was great to be home.

  Chapter Two

  A loud, mechanical sound woke me. I jumped out of bed and fell to my knees, squinting at the pool of darkness. My hands touched the top of the oval braided rug and I realized this was my bedroom, not the dorm. Feeling my way, I pulled open the closest curtain to peer out.

  Chubby gray clouds filled the sky. Everything before me sat coated in bright white.

  A dusting? A good eight to ten inches had fallen overnight. Stupid weather people.

  Dad has had a long-standing contract with our neighbor. Below my attic windows, Jimmy Murphy’s pick-up truck busily worked. The front plow pushed and shoved snow into compact walls then repeated. Our circular driveway was cleared within minutes, joining the rest of the pathways to the main road across from the property. Three of his team members maneuvered snow blowers up a ramp and onto a landscaping hitch attached to another truck.

  I opened all of the curtains covering the two walls of windows. The sun tried to peek through a cloud mass. I said another prayer for Nana and Mom before checking my phone. No new messages.

  With honks and waves, Mr. Murphy’s two trucks took off.

  After a shower, I blew out my auburn hair and twisted it into my messy version of a French braid. The clock radio beside the bed read 7:23. Why was I up so early? Oh yeah, plow.

  My first classes had all started at ten o’clock. I’d gotten accustomed to sleeping in, especially after working the closing shift. But today was different.

  This Saturday was the first day of winter break. I was free to roam.

  I slipped into my favorite pair of Levi’s with the holey knees. Next came the layers—a flannel long-sleeved tee under a dusty blue Henley—followed by a hoodie before I shoved my wool-sock-covered feet into my beloved, fleece-lined boots. No makeup, just some Vaseline across my lips.

  When home, all I cared about was going natural.

  I took the back staircase down to the kitchen, started the coffee maker, and fed Chewie. The aroma of fresh brewing French roast soon welcomed me. I wasn’t ‘officially home’ until the first real pot had been made, a tradition born when Dad began commuting for work six years ago.

  I checked my phone again as I stirred sugar and creamer into my mug. Nothing important. Later, I would let my local friends know I was home.

  Turning on Mom’s counter-top radio, my favorite DJ and his sidekick made fun of lame weather people. I chuckled. Join the club. I sipped and glanced out the window. Chewie lumbered in and sniffed at his bowls before heading over to me for his morning petting session. “You are so spoiled,” I murmured, scratching at the wiry fur behind his ears. His large, dark eyes rolled upwards as he hung his head down. “You remind me of a guy I dated. Todd. Nice guy, but boring.”

  Moving away, I gripped the mug with both hands as its warmth spread up my fingers. “Guys,” I sighed. “My roommates all hooked up, found someone they liked. Not me. I dated but felt nothing for any of them. Either they became too possessive too soon, or they just wanted to party.”

  I shrugged the memories off, downed my drink, and stood. What did I want?

  Someone to respect me. Love me for me—insecurities, issues, and all. “Whoever that may be, I know I want more. I want something special.”

  Pocketing my cell phone, I whistled for Chewie as I walked down the hall to grab my things. This morning begged for a walk. Since I could remember, I’d loved spending time outside, no matter the season.

  Settling into my tan barn coat, I pulled a blue beanie on. I always stored a hat in my jacket pockets to avoid silly searches. Chewie walked a few feet ahead. I closed the front door and stepped out. The porch had an overhang, so the floor only had a coating.

  Mr. Murphy had cleared the steps and walk. A huge smile spread across my lips as I took in the pristine landscape. I thought of Nana’s favorite quote by Emerson: “The universe is composed of Nature and the Soul.”

  His words felt true in this moment. The fifty acres of my family’s land lay captured under a marshmallow blanket, every single thing halted in a stunned silence. Feather-light flakes drifted down as if blown off the palm of an angel. Beautiful.

  Chewie waited patiently while I pulled on my gloves. I released him from my side with a simple, “Go, boy!” He took off for the northern field in pursuit of a squirrel. He would soon tire and join me. Our cats were probably fast asleep in one of the barns.

  Clouds bunched together in cliques in a dismal sky. When spots of sunshine broke through, those streaks spotlighted certain trees and bushes. An occasional bird chirped.

  My breath puffed out as I followed the recently cleared trail. Mom would accompany Chewie on outdoor treks, so Dad always ensured that the paths were cleaned. Today’s walkway was clear but jagged—a sure sign Jimmy Jr. had been in charge. He was always in a rush, and it was obvious he didn’t care as much as his father did.

  Strolling by the largest storage barn, Mom’s ceramic art studio, the weather-beaten hen house, and Dad’s tool shed, I slowed and approached the remains of Nana’s greenhouse poking out of a mound of snow.

  Last winter was brutal, causing her favorite building to collapse. If she came back here to live, I wished she wouldn’t have to see her beloved sanctuary in ruin. Maybe I could bring up the topic of fixing her greenhouse when Dad and Brad came home. Together, we could figure something out.

  Lured away by the sounds of the beckoning stream, I started taking pictures on my phone of the scenery around me. Many childhood hours had been spent by the meandering body of water that ran the length of our farm. At the halfway mark, the stream split into two—like the space between a thumb and a forefinger—through the middle of the property, where it continued out to Raven Falls Creek. The Catskill Mountains gleamed in the distance.

  All around me, the oaks, maples, and pines displayed glimmering new coats. Their beauty was breathtaking. Stray flakes descended, their touches across my cheeks sending shivers down my back.

  The stream seemed quieter than usual as I stepped through snow to climb down its banks. Ice chunks clogged parts of its girth, c
ausing a gridlock for the autumn leaves and discarded twigs.

  “Good morning, Conroy-Barclay Farm!” I smiled and sat on the nearest boulder.

  I had a lot to do inside the house, from unpacking, laundry, and decorating, to figuring out what presents to buy and for whom. And I had to figure out which room to prepare for Nana. All of it could wait.

  Then I heard it. A moan.

  Animal? No, numbskull, animals don’t moan.

  I jumped up, studying the area. The ground remained untouched, except for my footprints. My ears strained, waiting to hear the sound repeat itself.

  A childhood memory popped into my head. I was nine, outside, feeding the chickens in July. Brad collected eggs while Mom brushed the horses we boarded. Dad had gone to work. Nana and Poppa picked corn and tomatoes. This was life on our farm. I used to play in these woods.

  Carefree summer days ended that afternoon when a game of hide-and-seek with my brother and our small circle of friends turned gruesome. I’d gone to hide, only to stumble upon the remains of our missing goat, Franny, torn to pieces.

  Afterwards, my parents forbade any forest adventures. They never found whatever was responsible.

  Another moan came from the vicinity of the woods. The cry was human.

  I hadn’t gone back. Ever.

  Now the closer I grew, the louder the sounds became.

  Someone in pain.

  Before I saw him, I heard Chewie’s approach. He stepped as gingerly as such a huge dog could, but his weight made him sink down into the layers of snow. Like a trooper, he simply repeated his movements. Instead of stopping near me, he continued.